


Autumn

by Sp00py



Series: The Seasons of Snufkin [3]
Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Casual Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, after moominvalley in november, casual incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29046924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sp00py/pseuds/Sp00py
Summary: Snufkin grows up, and the Joxter comes round again.
Relationships: Joxaren | The Joxter/Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Mumintrollet | Moomintroll & Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Series: The Seasons of Snufkin [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2130840
Kudos: 23





	Autumn

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally "Summer" before I tossed it aside and wrote something completely different. Finally got around to revising it into "Autumn," instead, so sorry for any repetition/inconsistencies
> 
> ETA: casually drops discord link for 18+ moomin server that I literally just now opened up: <https://discord.gg/CqQFvXchaJ>

The Joxter watched Snufkin from the treeline, until Snufkin disengaged himself from Moomin and their friends, and approached. Snufkin had almost missed him, blending into the cacophony of leaves beginning to turn fiery with autumn, but for the bright eyes like the blistering sky of summer.

“I’ll be leaving soon for winter,” Snufkin says before the Joxter can speak.

“You Snufkins travel too much.”

“Where have you been, if not traveling?”

The Joxter fell into step beside Snufkin as he wandered the woods, not going anywhere in particular, just away from the others. The Joxter wasn’t the sort you brought around polite company. Soon, a trail of smoke was curling away from them as they went deeper, the only sign to others of the Joxter's presence.

“Here and there. Wherever I’m taken.”

“That sounds an awful lot like traveling,” Snufkin muttered, to a laugh and clap on his back. The Joxter was so warm and solid in a time when the world was shifting, becoming hazy and cold and ephemeral. But while Snufkin had so often felt pulled along in _his_ wake, now he was the one following.

“It does, doesn’t it? Though now is the time for hibernation and rest.”

“You won’t find that with me.”

The Joxter’s silence in answer gave Snufkin pause, and he turned to regard his father. Much like the Joxter had said when last they met, Joxters didn’t tend toward change. He looked much the same, only softer around the edges, like the forest around them as winter pressed in from the north. He met Snufkin’s eyes and smiled around his pipe. Snufkin waited.

"You've ripened, you know. Like a windfall apple."  
  
"Something to be eaten before I rot?" Snufkin asked, resisting the urge to pull nervously at his sleeves or his hat, like he so often did when people spoke like they knew him.

"Someone who decides when he's mature, instead of letting others tell him. You're more worldly now, I can feel it."  
  
Snufkin thought on the Hemulen and his boat, Toft, the Fillyjonk who played harmonica. He'd given her his when he came across her again and found she hadn't been able to find one of her own yet. It had been difficult, but he didn’t like being attached to possessions so that was a weight off to have it gone. Though seasons had passed since, he hadn't yet found a new instrument. He thought a little bit of Moomintroll, and the fear and conflict of caring about him that sometimes crept up but mostly stayed gone, now. He thought a lot of things, but said only, "I suppose," as he was wont to, and let the Joxter kiss him.  
  
The Joxter's whiskers tickled Snufkin's cheeks, brought up old memories of his whiskers elsewhere. Snufkin knew a little more of sex and heavy petting now thanks to Moomintroll, who knew from Snorkmaiden who knew from books that Snufkin promptly stole (to be returned later, of course, nobody the wiser). He pushed the Joxter away, reconsidering the old trees and deep shadows around them. One never knew what spirits or Creeps might be lurking.  
  
"Not here."  
  
"Of course," the Joxter murmured against his lips. "Where to?"  
  
Snufkin considered. "My tent," he decided, a place where he felt safe and comfortable if they were going to do this. And he saw no reason not to do it, as it was still forbidden, and the Joxter seemed content to take the lead once more. Snufkin knew more, yes, but his interest hadn’t increased with knowledge.

He led the Joxter to his tent, furtively so as not to alert the others to their new guest, and was pulled into another kiss as soon as he ducked in. The Joxter let him go, and he licked his lips.  
  
"Sooner or later you'll figure out how to do that," the Joxter said.  
  
"I think not."  
  
And that was all that was said between them as the Joxter climbed on Snufkin, hands braces on either side of him. Despite Snufkin, he worked his way down Snufkin's throat, hands hiking up his coat.  
  
"Snufkin?"  
  
The Joxter had never been shoved so hard before, and he nearly took down the tent before he caught himself with a pained cough. Snufkin was already upright, blush luminous, coat yanked back down.  
  
"Yes, Moomintroll?" he asked through the tent flap, voice deceptively calm as he frantically smoothed down any traitorous wrinkles.  
  
Moomin let himself in. "Hello, Mr Joxter!" he said, caught off guard by the third party. It gave Snufkin precious seconds to get his face under control. "I didn't realize you were here."  
  
"No, I rather suspected not," the Joxter said as he helped himself to Snufkin's tobacco pouch, as casual as could be.

"I was going to see if you wanted to go fishing today," Moomintroll explained to Snufkin, "but I'm sure you'd rather spend time with the Joxter."  
  
The Joxter frowned heavily over Moomin's shoulder at Snufkin, who was plainly warring with the urge to fish with Moomintroll and the urge to bed the Joxter. The Joxter knew which was stronger, but he wanted to get laid.  
  
He followed them to the beach, and slept grumpily on Snufkin as he and Moomin fished near the tide pools, Moomin providing almost all the conversation between the three of them. The Joxter's mood was lifted somewhat by a sea urchin Snufkin gave to him (especially when Moomin called it a hedgehog), and by the fish Snufkin cooked right there in an old firepit set up on the shore.  
  
"Did you come to visit Snufkin?" Moomintroll asked the Joxter.  
  
"I did. It's been ages since I saw my lovely son."  
  
Snufkin dropped one of the fish in the flames with a flustered curse. Moomintroll didn't notice.  
  
"Snufkin's the best," he said agreeably. "He had the most wonderful stories, and songs, and takes such care--"  
  
"Moomin," Snufkin interrupted, pained.  
  
"Everyone loves him, you know," Moomintroll finished up, bashfully wringing his tail.  
  
The Joxter made a pleased little noise at Snufkin's distress. "I know," he purred as he pulled off his gloves to pick at the fish Snufkin shoved at him. He’d given him the one he dropped, and it had bits of coal and sand on it.  
  
Moomintroll's praise was cut off by the sight of the Joxter's blackened fingers, and Snufkin was allowed some peace as the Joxter explained what happened. The Joxter told stories differently from Snufkin, who nowadays only shared what needed to be shared and kept the rest to himself. The Joxter relished his story, told it to shock, to maybe impart some absurd warning, but that was secondary to the tale itself. Snufkin suspected he was lying. About this and other stories. Maybe all of them; he hadn’t decided yet.  
  
Moomin, taken by the Joxter's story, climbed to his feet. "Do you mind if I write that down, Mr Joxter?"  
  
"Are you writing a memoir, too?" the Joxter asked dryly, clearly not too keen on being in yet _another_ person’s story. One Moomintroll telling tales was enough, thank you very much.  
  
"Oh no, but I want to learn all I can about the Groke."  
  
The Joxter made some small noise, then let his attention slide to Snufkin, as though to say 'he's still here.'  
  
Snufkin roused himself slowly to address the problem. "You'll have to share what you have, dear. Once it's all together."  
  
Moomin glowed at the suggestion, promptly forgetting all about interrogating the Joxter. He so rarely had stories for Snufkin, though, like Snufkin, he was learning the value of a story unshared. "Of course, Snuf!"  
  
He left them, tail flicking happily, and soon the only sounds were the crashing ocean and the loud silence between Snufkin and the Joxter.  
  
"He's cute. I like him better than Moominpappa," the Joxter decided, as he returned his sea urchin (hedgehog!) to the water.  
  
"I like him too," Snufkin said, feeling a little thrill of pride because he was _his_ Moomintroll, and the Joxter's praise seemed like something hard won. He didn’t get to ponder the strangeness of caring what the Joxter thought, though, as now that they were alone again, the Joxter was ready to resume his earlier activities.  
  
Snufkin had to shove him off with a knee to his sternum when he tried to push him back against the sun-warmed sand, conversation done.  
  
"What now?" the Joxter grumbled, rubbing his chest. If Snufkin kept shoving him around, he was going to develop bruises. With Moomin gone, they were finally alone. He failed to see what the bother was.

"It's too sandy here. Too open."  
  
"Have you ever heard the story of Goldilocks?"  
  
Snufkin huffed, and the Joxter huffed right back. But it was Snufkin's decision.  
  
"There's a cave near here."  
  
"Lovely," the Joxter said as he made no move to stop groping Snufkin under his coat. Snufkin waited, entirely unresponsive, until he grew bored.

They eventually made it to the cave after washing up in a stream that fed into the ocean, though the Joxter was of no help at all. Snufkin knew he liked getting a rise out of him, yet fell for it so easily. It made him flustered, being the object of the Joxter's attentions. He'd been so enamored of him when he was younger, and the old feelings of awe and respect were difficult to shake despite that he knew the Joxter was just a Mumrik like any other, and only people like Moominpappa or the Hemulen with his boat with the red sail respected Mumriks. Certainly Snufkins oughtn’t respect Joxters, any more than the Joxter was respecting Snufkin, now.

The Joxter settled on a bit of exposed rock and pulled Snufkin to stand over him. Snufkin needed to be properly prepared, and both understood that he was going to be of no help in the endeavor. The Joxter didn’t mind, though. It was just how Snufkins were.

His paws trailed up Snufkin’s pants, pulled them down, got one leg out and didn’t bother with the other. Then his fingers, sans gloves as his picky Snufkin preferred, disappeared up under Snufkin’s coat. The Joxter savored the small responses that flickered across Snufkin’s face, ever little intake of breath. It mostly seemed surprise and curiosity and maybe a little bit of pain, not arousal, but Snufkin remained amiable to the idea.

Soon, he was settled in the Joxter’s lap, face scrunched in concentration as he slid down slowly, the Joxter’s paws on his hips steadying him. They sat several moments longer, once the Joxter was fully inside, in no rush. This was nice. The Joxter wrapped his arms around Snufkin and buried his face in his neck, breathing his scent. Warm and deeper than before, inviting like a nice fire and pot of coffee after a blustery autumn day. He was warm around the Joxter, too, and soft as before.

Snufkin undulated experimentally, then the Joxter helped him find a rhythm that was lazy and relaxed.

“How does it feel?” the Joxter asked.

“Aches a little,” Snufkin said shortly, fingers clenching on the Joxter’s arms at a particular movement that the Joxter repeated.

“That’s because you don’t do this often. Or ever?”

“I have. With Moomin. Once.” His words came out a little sharp, punctuated by a noticeable uptick of breath at each shift inside.

“Oh, one whole time. No wonder you’re so tense.” The Joxter’s fingers slid down to the small of Snufkin’s back to massage the knots there. “Don’t worry, dear. Your pappa’ll take care of you.”

Snufkin let out a snort as his entire face flamed red from his throat to his ears. “It’s embarrassing hearing you say that, Joxter,” he murmured.

“You’re right. Hearing _you_ call me pappa is much nicer. Why not call me that?”

Snufkin wrapped his arms around the Joxter’s neck and hid his face as he muttered a shameful little “Pappa”. This was why he liked doing this, because it was something he shouldn’t be doing with his own father, but Snufkin was out of practice with playing the taboo game, and _saying_ pappa felt artificial. He tried it a few more times, until it flowed more naturally, and the Joxter’s pace picked up in excitement.

The Joxter pushed Snufkin back a little to brush his hair out of his flushed face and croon about how pretty his son looked, how nice his son felt, how good his son was. They absolutely shouldn’t be doing this, but it felt nicer the more the Joxter moved, ached less with each assurance that Snufkin was doing well.

The Joxter rolled them carefully over to finish, Snufkin’s legs locked around his waist pulling him close. He kissed and nipped as Snufkin continued to sigh out such nice sounds.

The Joxter rolled his hips a few more times, came, then flopped down on Snufkin with a pleased grunt.

“I hope it didn’t hurt the entire time,” the Joxter murmured as Snufkin let his legs relax and slide down to tangle with the Joxter’s.

“No. It didn’t feel like much of anything after a bit.”

The Joxter kissed Snufkin’s cheek. “You’re a good boy, Snufkin. A terrible son, but a good boy.”

“And you’re a terrible father.”

The Joxter waited for some compliment to follow, but when he got nothing but a look from Snufkin, he laughed. “I’ll go ask Moominpappa how to be a good father. I imagine his first bit of advice will be to stop screwing my child.”

Snufkin tensed a little around him. “Probably,” he said, voice pointedly level. They absolutely shouldn’t be doing this. It somehow felt more forbidden than it had before, which put Snufkin on edge, and he wondered if it was the location. “We should head back.”

“A little longer, dear,” the Joxter muttered, settling in on top of Snufkin. “Savor it.”

Snufkin breathed heavily through his nose, but tried to relax against the ground. He closed his eyes. Savor it. The Joxter felt heavy inside of him, and his whiskers tickled at Snufkin’s chin. He smelled musky and sour. Outside, Snufkin could hear the roar of the sea, and inside the faint echo of the Joxter’s breathing. Sand scratched at his thighs, inescapable even off of the beach. He hoped nothing got inside, though he’d tried to be careful.

He opened his eyes. “We should head back,” he repeated, rousing the Joxter from his nap.

Finally the Joxter got off of him, and helped him get his pants back on. They returned to the valley like nothing had happened, just in time for Moominmamma’s supper. She already had a plate out for the Joxter, thanks to Moomin.

The ache inside came back slowly, a low feeling deep inside that didn’t hurt but kept Snufkin thinking of the Joxter when he should have been focusing on what Moomin was talking about. The Joxter was acting as though everything was completely normal, easy and free with his stories and gestures. Irrationally, Snufkin thought it wasn’t fair that _he_ got to be so unbothered.

“You look a little flushed, Snufkin. Are you feeling well?” Moomin asked, pulling Snufkin’s attention away from his father, who was gesturing wildly to Moominpappa as he fabricated a story, Snufkin was sure, from nothing but air.

He blushed brighter. “I’m fine, Moomin. You were saying about your book?”

“Oh, yes, I was wondering if you’d like to help draw. You know I’m no good with illustrations.”

“I’d love to. Would you like to start right now?”

“Really?” Moomin asked, glowing. It washed away any aches Snufkin felt, seeing him so pleased. “Pappa, Snufkin and I are going to use your study, okay?” he called, taking Snufkin’s paw and pulling him along.

Moominpappa said something, and Snufkin could feel the Joxter’s eyes on his back, but he was glad for the distraction and the chance to help Moomin.

* * *

It took some time to realize why he felt so odd, and it was because he not only cared about others, but he cared, in some way, what others thought. Snufkin came to this realization underneath the Joxter that night, and had to ask him to stop for a minute to process it. It was so unlike himself. 

“I don’t think Moomintroll would hate you or anything,” the Joxter assured him, without him even saying who, specificially, he was worried about. “If anything, he might respect you more.”

“He absolutely _would not_ ,” Snufkin said. He would be disgusted, and even if he wasn’t, Snufkin didn’t want anything that would make Moomin admire him any more. “You don’t think he’d find it especially bad? This isn’t stealing melons or pulling up signs.”

“It’s hardly any different. He must know how Snufkins are, good and bad. And that’s even assuming he finds out.”

That wasn’t any assurance, but neither say that. “You won’t say anything or do anything to suggest it, will you?”

“It's more fun when people know, but,” here, the Joxter gave a beleaguered sigh, as though Snufkin was asking him to give up napping or oranges. “No, I won’t. You Snufkins are so fretful.”

“Thank you.” Snufkin leaned up and gave the Joxter a quick kiss on the cheek, permission to continue. He felt better having aired his concerns, and decided to be a little more daring, like he’d been when younger and when he cared less. They parted more breathlessly than before, and after a quick wash farther upstream away from the prying eyes of Moominhouse, Snufkin let the Joxter curl up around him.

* * *

The Joxter didn’t touch him after that, content to become just a staple in Snufkin’s tent or perched somewhere on Moominhouse. At first Snufkin worried he’d scared off the Joxter with his fretting, but then decided that probably wasn’t the case. Joxters did what they wanted.

Snufkin decided to be much the same, and it was like rediscovering a bit of yourself you’d forgotten in the bustle of life. He went off into the forest on his own, when so inclined, or down to the beach, turning down offers of companionship, and Moomin understood, as Moomins did. As autumn crept into deeper splendor, Snufkin pulled away. It made it easier, when he left. Rarely, he’d seek out Moomin or the Joxter or others. Sometimes people admired him, and that was fine, and sometimes they tried to arrest him and that was fine, too. 

Snufkin just played his songs and made his poems, and helped Moomin with his pictures, and everything was perfectly fine, like things were supposed to be.

“Joxter,” Snufkin said one morning, waking up to him wrapped around him again and pressing against his side, needy and hard.

“Yes, dear?”

“I’d like to do something. Would you roll onto your back?”

With an intrigued little hum, the Joxter flopped back and let Snufkin sit up. He brushed out his coat and hair, then crawled between the Joxter’s legs. Snufkin shoved at the Joxter’s coat until it was bunched up at his waist, giving him access to his pants.

“Hm. A zipper,” Snufkin muttered, earning a laugh. Luckily, despite the Joxter’s long-ago warnings, the zipper didn’t stick as Snufkin pulled it down and slipped his paw inside.

“Ah! Your fingers are cold,” the Joxter said with a startled jerk.

“It’s morning.”

The Joxter relaxed, less bothered by the chill now that he knew to expect it. And it would last only so long. “What brought this on?”

“Nothing.” And that was all that was said on the matter as Snufkin tried something very new.

The Joxter gave a pleased sigh as Snufkin’s cold fingers were replaced with his warm mouth. Snufkin clearly lacked experience, but the Joxter found his actions endearing. He carded his hands through Snufkin’s hair, letting him go at his own pace, only sometimes twitching his hips up. He couldn’t help the harder jerk that left Snufkin coughing. Snufkin pulled back, and got most of the Joxter’s seed on his face instead of in his mouth.

The Joxter smothered a snort. Then he didn’t bother to smother it. Snufkin flushed, blatantly unsure what to do about the mess. He was definitely no Mymble. Taking pity on him, the Joxter grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at Snufkin’s face, then kissed his cheek.

“Nothing brought this on?”

“I’m glad you came to visit,” Snufkin said. “Will you be staying the winter?”

The Joxter shrugged. “Seems easiest to.”

“I suppose I’ll see you next spring, then.”

The next day, the Joxter woke up to a new chill and no tent. Snufkin had left without a word of warning. Autumn finally, officially began.


End file.
